Concert Within the Shadows
by Conveyus Prime
Summary: [G1] Sometimes, neither time nor Ratchet can heal all wounds. This is how I believe Bluestreak copes with his own mental scars...


_Well, this came to me at a spurr-of-the-moment idea. I was listening to a song from a band called 'Within Temptation', the title being 'The Swan Song'. If you've ever heard it, you know that haunting tune at the very beginning and at the middle? That's kinda what 'tune' is being played in this story--similar, but slightly different. Or, at least is mentioned. I suppose he could be playing the whole song. I'll leave it up to your imaginations. ;) Let me know what you think. :D_

_By the way, there's supposed to be a line with just exclamation marks between the third and fourth lines, but it won't let me. -.-; Ah well. _

_---------------------_

Fwwwww-EEEEE-eeeeee-uueeuuuuuu

Fwww-eeee-uuu-uuu-wuuu-wuuuuuuuu

Fwww-uuuu-eeee---

He hid the item underneath his recharger/bunk the instant he heard the knock on his door. Worried that he'd bothered someone (again), he slowly stood up and hesitantly walked over to the door, opening it slightly. The familiar visor on the curious face in front of him gave him a tiny breath of relief, but increased his apprehension. Of course he'd notice…

"Hey Blue, was that music coming from in here?" Jazz asked, clearly unaware of the sudden increased fidgeting from the mech in front of him.

"Errr, well…" Bluestreak stuttered, tilting his face down and away as an odd look crossed his face. His optics seemed to disappear in shadow and his mouth settled in a straight line, slightly downturned at one side. He didn't try to speak after that, apparently unable to, and his door-wings slumped straight down so that they hung limply from his back.

There was a soft, understanding hum and Jazz gently touched Bluestreak's shoulder. Bluestreak flinched slightly from the touch and Jazz was quick to pull his hand back. "Don't worry 'bout it, m'man," the Special Ops officer said quietly with a soft smile. "I gotcha." With a small nod, he stepped back from the door. "Didn' mean ta interrupt'cha. Sorry 'bout that."

Bluestreak looked up from beneath his chevron, without moving his head, and the opposite corner of his mouth twitched in something that appeared to be an extremely tiny smile. It faded as quickly as it had come, and the gunner's gaze lowered again shortly thereafter. He stepped back and the door hissed shut, separating the two Autobots. The young Autobot leaned forwards against the door, the center and horns of his chevron tapping against the metal, and waited until he heard Jazz's footsteps fade down the hall. He tried to take in a breath, but it came in as a sob and was gone far too quickly. He knew it was but the first, if nothing was done.

He returned to his bunk, taking out a well-worn instrument of some kind out from the hiding place beneath the recharger. It looked almost exactly like a human 'recorder', albeit with fewer holes and Transformer-sized, and it had Cybertronian designs along the 'mouthpiece' and the very end. He looked over it, wondering… but shook his head before the memories could sneak back and he prepared the instrument to be played. He lifted it to his mouth, shuttered his optics, and played a soft, yet somehow complicated, tune.

The notes swirled together, following each other with a smoothness that would surprise anyone who knew the identity of the instrument player. Up and down, hovering on high and low notes alike… the sound barely reaching past his quarters' walls and door. Playing this instrument did not give him any 'peace', and was barely 'calming', but he saw the inferno within his optics and mind fade back for a brief time. It was his last lifeline, his only connection to what had once been. However, as minutes then hours passed, his body succumbed to the exhaustion it felt after a long day… and the song faded into silence.

Unseen and unnoticed, outside his quarters, a black-and-white mech stood just to the side of the door, leaning against the wall as he listened to the faint notes become even fainter until there were no more. He waited a few minutes, then cautiously opened the door to peer inside. Sure enough, the young gunner was fast asleep, the instrument barely clasped in one hand, which was over his chestplate. Bluestreak's face was still trapped in that same look that had settled on it when Jazz had tried to understand what was going on. No… there would be no peace to be found today. Nor ever, most likely.

The intruder stepped back, allowing the door to close, as a very faint, very sad smile crossed his normally neutral expression for the briefest of seconds. Tilting his head downwards, he touched the center of his own chevron before turning away. Not even he knew the full meaning of that instrument, or that song… but perhaps, he was not supposed to know. Perhaps it was something that Bluestreak would share with one he trusted beyond reproach, but after what happened to the young gunner? No-one knew the specifics of what happened to him that horrible day when Kalis became a wasteland, since Bluestreak--the only survivor--has never spoken of it. The chances of him trusting anyone again even half as deeply as he did the ones he had lost that day were exponentially slim.

He sighed deeply, allowing his own door-wings to sag slightly before twitching back up to their normal position. Only so much could be done through rank, and the rest could only be left up to the Autobot himself. For now, he was regulated to a confidant, perhaps a tentative 'relative', but nothing more. And until Bluestreak allowed him in, there was nothing more he could do. It was not his place.

So until then, Prowl would have to content himself to listening to the secret concert within the shadows.


End file.
